Vision, Old and New

A Visit to the Eye Surgeon

I don’t know about you, naturally; but I am finding it very awkward to go out beyond my neighborhood.

Being retired, being a shy introvert, I have spent pretty much all of COVID life at home. And while I talk to myself quite a lot, I don’t talk with other people much.

Early this afternoon I set out upon a great excursion: I was to drive some eleven miles north and see about an appointment to have my second (right) cataract repaired.

So first I have to remember how to drive. Then I see there are only 8 miles left in the old gas tank, so now I have to find a gas station and remember how to use it. My car gets 43 miles to the gallon, and I go nowhere; you can see why I might not remember which side the tank was on, or how to use the paying thing, or how much to worry about credit card skimmers.

“Check the pump for tampering,” says the sign. Pretty sure I would know what a tampered gas pump looks like. Mine was upright, so I figured it was good to go.

No matter that the freeway I was embarking upon had been my route to work and school for a dozen years. When you’ve been happily housebound for two years everything looks strange.

Once at the eye surgeon’s office — an apparently enormous complex — I discovered I was totally out of…